The Great Leonid Storm of 2001

There’s the story of me sitting in the grass in the dark

on a lounge of rattan, hot chocolate in hand.

Aumakua-Pueo, Hawaiian Owl, protector,

rocker of children, perches on the fence post-our necks

swivel in sync towards the house below the burm, fishbowl

with a round roof, its aluminum aglow-squint and the disc

is a spaceship, heavenly cradle for our starchild,

asleep in dusty pink, binkie, bunny in tiny hands.

There’s the story of life’s bricks, mysteriously lain,

in perfect alignment, not a daydreamed lavender

victorian gingerbread, manicured lawn of trikes,

tree houses, not ball gowns and ballet, nor four seasons

of Vivaldi, instead soft ukulele under

the celestial show of the century, meteors

shower from Leo, fireballs paint the night sky

with the message, this cinder cone is home.